A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, except the random flamer. It's really appreciated and I hope fervently that you will continue to read and comment on this fic.

BLOODLUST

Chapter 3

Harry's supposition had been right – Severus did not sleep. Even after dosing himself repeatedly with various potions, his head still ached with thoughts that refused to let in the drowsy liquid. He could not bring himself to lie down; he could not bring himself to stay standing; he could not bring himself to sit at his desk … the obsidian was still there. When he turned his back on it, he could feel its fire burning his back. It seared his face when he looked at it. He drifted about his rooms in a state of complete indecision.

It was a strange feeling, being half under someone else's control: your emotions and opinions were completely mingled and it was impossible to distinguish between the real, and the imposed. Severus was having immense trouble determining his feelings about the smallest thing … whether red eyes were a good look, for example.

At the centre of his confusion, though, lay his emotions about Harry Potter. As Severus Snape, an independent thinker capable of making his own decisions, he simply disliked the boy. Disliked him to the point of being unfair. However, the imposer made things so much more complicated … when he was in his bloodlust, he hated the boy so much he would die a thousand painful deaths to see him eliminated. But in that moment when the madness left him, he looked at that clear, bewildered face, and saw more than a miniature James Potter. He saw a lover.

Severus would have loved to believe that it was simply a moment of mixed emotions, when he wasn't sure what he wanted. But the hematite never lied, and the bold possibility was staring him in the face that it was a fleeting time of sanity and knowing, that under everything, every paper-thin layer of cold civility that he had plastered over himself, every deceiving thought he pushed himself into believing, he wanted Harry.

Surely not.

*****

Harry's only memory of Draco leaving the previous night was the vague sense of the warmth on his back, his neck, his legs, being replaced by cool material. Hermione had returned with Fred a couple of hours later, and had been startled to find Harry in his armchair, covered only by his robe. Harry had managed, even in his satisfied, spent, sleepy state, to lie that he was hot and couldn't sleep. Then he had gone to bed. By the next morning, he had completely forgotten about Snape.

His weary brain did not even connect when he noted that he had Potions just before lunch. There was the inevitable feeling of dread, the faint panic before he remembered that he indeed had done the various essays they had been set. He thought the word 'Snape' in his mind a dozen times, but his mind refused to acknowledge it. He was to wonder about that later.

At breakfast, Draco shot him a particularly venomous look, which Harry returned, one hand going unconsciously to the front of his trousers to hide whatever he suspected might be there. Swine.

He got some fairly innocent pleasure, though, out of teasing Hermione and Fred about their little meeting. They both blushed immediately, but Hermione's face was proud, and Fred's wryly affectionate. Harry smiled tolerantly, trying to feign shock, disapproval, and amusement at the same time. Secretly, he was very pleased about the whole thing – it was very sweet, the way they adored each other. Besides, it drew the attention away from himself.

'It's a shame,' Fred remarked with dignified wisdom, 'that not everyone can be as happy and Hermione and me.' He jerked his head towards the staff table. 'Snape looks like he's had a rough night.'

Harry felt his face grow very cold, and for a moment the world seemed to freeze as his brain went into overdrive, remembering, processing, dreading. He looked at Snape, and their eyes locked suddenly. The man was pale; his face was bleak, and his eyes haunted with guilt and self-loathing. The gaze he was directing at Harry was confused, but, typically for Snape, level and unflinching.

'Oh, fuck.' He let his head sink into his hands in the horror of memory.

'Harry?' Ron prodded him. 'You ok?'

Would that it were.

'Potions,' he muttered to himself. A whole double lesson with Snape, both of them stepping around each other like two circling animals. Harry had always looked forward to the time when Snape would be afraid of him, rather than the other way around … but he hadn't wanted this. He'd never wanted to reduce Snape to such a wreck, he knew.

Potions is going to be interesting, he thought grimly.

*****

Harry's face at breakfast. That shock, the disbelief, the terror implicit in that stare. The bewilderment. The beautiful – beautiful? – eyes, filled with uncertainty.

It was almost more than Severus could bear.

*****

Harry settled onto his stool uneasily, his eyes darting about as they searched for the Potions teacher in the hidden corners of the dungeons. Tiny hisses made him jump in fright. His nerves were crumbling.

'Harry, what's wrong with you?' Ron asked in exasperation. 'You've been like this all morning. You have done your homework, yes?'

Harry nodded vaguely. 'Oh, yes,' he murmured.

Ah, Ron. How little you know. How much I feel I should tell you, yet how little you'd end up aware of. Ignorance is bliss, yes?

Ron gave a long-suffering sigh and nudged Hermione. 'Probably worried Snape'll find out about you and Fred, and blame it on him,' he told her. 'Although I suppose this is Snape we're talking about. He could do it, I reckon.'

'Thank you, Mr Weasley. I dare say I could, but I would be grateful if you kept your opinions to yourself. That'll be five points.' The low, cold voice crept through the dungeon, and every student suddenly sat up very straight, not sure where Snape was but not daring to look about for him. Ron gulped loudly; a few sniggers were provoked but hastily muffled.

Harry also jumped to attention, struggling desperately to stop himself from shaking. What if Snape went mad, here and now? What if he decided that his hatred for Harry overrode anything else, and tried to kill him in front of everyone? He shuddered very slightly.

Snape appeared at the front of the classroom, although it was anybody's guess where he had come from. 'Good morning, class,' he greeted silkily. 'I hope we've all finished our conversations for the morning. Now turn to page forty-three in your books, and the topic for the day will be …'

Suddenly he caught Harry's eye, and for a brief time they stared at each other, enemies, hating and fearing, but each at the same time wondering, hoping, and believing that he understood. Then Snape recovered his composure, and cleared his throat before continuing. 'The topic will be mind-affecting potions. Page forty-three.'

Harry's main aim for the lesson was simply to try to keep out of Snape's way, to draw as little attention to himself as he could. But part of him could not help watching, trying to work out exactly what was happening to his teacher. Snape's eyes turned a little wild whenever he looked at Harry; wild not only with dismayed guilt, but with something else that Harry could not quite determine …

There was a loud whisper from across the classroom. 'I bet Potter's been mind-affected already. Look at him, he can't even turn the page!'

Harry snapped his head sideways to look straight at Draco, and in the moment their eyes met, they wanted each other. But Draco's eyes were questioning, asking him what was the matter. This annoyed Harry somehow. What right had Draco to interfere in affairs that were none of his business? They were lovers, nothing more.

'Shut up, Malfoy,' he shot back, and the irritation was not feigned.

'Quiet!' Snape's voice rang in the two boys' ears. 'Malfoy … get on with your work. Potter, I want a word with you after the lesson.'

There was a very audible gasp at the unfairness of Snape's words, but Snape silenced any following mutters with well-placed glares. Harry took a deep breath. He suspected that Snape wasn't simply being his usual charming self, and that he actually wanted to talk to Harry. The idea terrified him – they would be alone, totally alone, in the most isolated part of the school, save the Forest. Snape could do anything he liked. But a significant piece of Harry was hoping that he wanted to apologise, and explain. And so he nodded sullenly.

When finally they were dismissed, and everyone else had gone, Snape beckoned Harry to the front of the classroom. Harry approached cautiously, tightening his grip on his wand in his pocket.

'Potter … Harry. You can be in no doubt as to what I want to talk to you about.'

'No, sir.'

Snape waved the 'sir' away with a thin hand, and motioned to a chair next to his desk. 'Please, don't. Sit down.'

Slowly Harry sat. His brain was going into total overdrive, frantically trying to connect wires to conclude what Snape was doing.

'I think I owe you an … an explanation. About last night.' Snape drew out the shiny grey stone from his pocket and laid it on the desk. 'You see, the madness, it's … it's not mine.' He rolled up his left sleeve to reveal what Harry already knew was there. 'I've left Voldemort. He knows it. But he can still control me by channelling his power to me through obsidian. That's a stone, in case you didn't know.' For a moment, his voice was sarcastic and scornful again, and Harry almost smiled.

'I know.'

'When I'm attached to him in this way, he can control my mental state, my personality. I become whatever he wants me to be. After we're … disconnected … I can't remember anything. So I still don't know exactly what I did … to you.' His face became pleading, hoping. 'I was wondering whether you could tell me.'

Harry searched Snape's face intently. Everything that he had said made sense; it explained so much – the red gleam in Snape's eyes, the madness, the uncharacteristic loss of control … and his state of mind now.

Slowly he began to speak, trying to remember what had happened. A couple of times he paused, not knowing how to tell Snape what he had tried to do, but the man's face was strong and brave, and Harry felt compelled to tell the truth, even if neither of them liked it.

When he had finished, Snape's expression was one of revulsion as he digested the information, tried to fit it into memory. 'God, Harry … after I did that to you … you must despise me.' He stood up, moved around the desk, crouched down before Harry. 'I'm … I'm so sorry, I …'

In the split second before Snape's eyes began to glow red, Harry noticed Snape could no longer see the hematite. Something clicked in his mind, and he launched himself out of the chair, whipping out his wand as he darted away from Snape. He turned, ready to defend himself, and the hematite glinted on the desk. Get it to Snape.

Snape was creeping towards him, a low snarl sounding from his throat and his face twisted in the bloodlust. His wand flashed red sparks, and his eyes flickered.

'Expelliarmus!' Harry's voice was trembling, but he still had enough force behind it for it to be effective.

Snape's wand flew from his hand to Harry's, and the Potions master was thrown backwards. Harry wasted no time. He sprinted between the benches, grabbed the hematite from the desk, turned and as Snape threw himself at Harry, he thrust the stone into Snape's face.

The momentum of Snape's leap carried the two of them onto the floor, Harry crushed under his weight, but Snape was sane again, and breathing fast. 'Harry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, what have I done …'

Then, as Harry looked up into that pale, terrified face, Snape gave a low whimper, lowered his head, and kissed Harry full on the lips.

*****

A/N: Um … please review?